I Smell Sex and Candy
by Dimitri Aidan
Summary: Dean and Sam are investigating a series of infant deaths and find themselves in over their heads. When Dean is kidnapped by a demon, Sam is left with no idea of what to do next. DeanOther, SamOMC, SamDean, Dark
1. Damn Tonight

I Smell Sex and Candy

I don't own Supernatural and Sebastian Richards belongs to my friend Rochelle B.

Author: Dimitri Aidan

Rating: Borderline R/NC-17.

Spoilers: Pilot, Scarecrow, and Faith most obviously.

Pairings: One-sided Sam/Dean, Forced Dean/Other, and Light Sam/OMC.

Unbeated at the moment. I fully admit my own editing skills suck...

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Language, Torture, Rape, Sexual Tension, Incest, general badness, and some vaguely religious themes. Lets just leave it at 'Dean's having a bad day'.

Summary: Dean and Sam are investigating a series of infant deaths and find themselves in over their heads. When Dean is kidnapped by a demon, Sam is left alone and with no idea of what to do next.

Notes: For the Hurt!Dean Challenge. I admit, I had some writers block with this one but I did something I never did, not even for school, and did some demon research and it pretty much wrote itself from there. My English teacher would, I'm sure, be proud.

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Chapter One

Damn Tonight

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James Hollow, Colorado had a population of about fifteen hundred, nestled in the Rocky Mountains, and thrived on tourism during the summer and holidays and renting homes to 'Stars' with a love for peace and nature. When the logging business had died most of the town had gone with it, but it still hung on. It was a quiet beautiful place and now, in late November, about an inch of snow covered the ground.

James Hollow was ordinary except for the recent number of unexplainable infant deaths. The children would simply pass away in their sleep, unbeknownst to their parents, without a sound or a sign of a struggle. The entire town was in a state of mourning, or that was how it had seemed to them when they had driven into the city limits. Black ribbons hung in every storefront and no one seemed to be out.

Officially it was being labeled as virus related deaths that were sweeping the area. Five towns around James Hollow had also suffered from the virus, only striking newborns. Half a dozen would die over a period of time and then whatever it was would vanish for a month or two before striking a new town.

They'd visited the five towns closet, gathering information and talking to people under the guise of being with the CDC, before finally stopping here. There were only four deaths, meaning they had time to save a few children and stop this thing.

They were in the library, which was apparently not a hotspot on a Thursday afternoon. Spread on the table between them was their father's journal, photocopies of news stories, their own notes, and a book of mythical creatures that wasn't exactly doing a lot of good. From what they could tell their father had encountered nothing like this and their own notes weren't of much good, since the only connection was the obvious. Six infants, always born within the same two-week period, died abruptly in their sleep with no markings or indication of how it had occurred.

Sam could tell that Dean was agitated, could tell in the way his jaw was set and his fingers were constantly flexing as if he were desperate to get them around something. Then again that was Dean in a nutshell no matter what they were about to get into, always ready for action and to face whatever threat was lurking out there, no matter the risk to his own life.

He got worse when kids were involved though. The biggest example had been willingly electrocuting, and nearly killing, himself to stop any more children from being kidnapped. He would take the stupidest risks with a shit-eating grin on his face if there were even half of a percent of a chance it would work and it made Sam a little crazy. Dean was unpredictable in what lengths he would go to at the best of times…at the worst of times Sam was better off just standing off to the side with a first aid kit and 911 on speed dial.

He was worried too though; there were two infants left and they had no idea what they were up against, where to start looking, or how to kill it. They were pretty much royally fucked. On the upside this was hardly a new situation or something to be alarmed about; it was pretty much how they worked.

"This is getting us no where." Dean said, slamming the book shut and glaring at it as if it had betrayed him. "We're wasting time."

"I know." Sam sighed and sat up straight, rubbing his hands over his eyes. "I don't know what else we can do, except wait for the next kid to die, not that anything would come of that."

"Unless we were there when it attacked."

Sam rolled his eyes. They'd been over that already. "That'd be great Dean, if there weren't five potential victims and only two of us. Those aren't good odds for the three we can't watch."

They had looked over all of the birth announcements for all of the infants born the week of, before, and after that of the infants who had already died and had come up with five of them

Dean snorted darkly. It was very strange actually, the first time in forty years so many women had given birth in such a small period of time and it just happened to occur now. It was so obviously suspicious that it made Dean's head hurt and it undoubtedly had something to do with whatever was killing the infants. He said as much to Sam and the younger man frowned, leaning back in his seat some.

"Do you think the parents are in on it?"

"Maybe the whole town. All of them." Dean said with a shrug. "It'd be unusual with so many people, at least five towns already, but not unheard of and it isn't like they'd be the first people willing to sacrifice their children."

Sam nodded slowly. He didn't like to think of it like that, but it was true. "What do you think they're getting out of it?"

"Pie?" Dean guessed, lips twisting into a rueful smile at Sam's exasperated groan.

"Jesus Dean, let it go."

Dean shook his head as he stood up, a glimmer of a plan of action already forming in his mind. It wasn't a particularly good plan of action, as far as such things went, but it was something and that was more than they were working with now. "Pie Sam, they were killing people for years over pie. They wanted to kill _me_ for pie."

"Not directly." Sam said, smiling indulgently. Dean had taken serious offense to having his life deemed less worthy than pies, at least in his eyes, and Sam had all but given up on trying to get him to move on. He had, once for half a second, considered telling his brother that he meant more than pie to him but had decided not to, for the sake of not helping Dean humiliating him.

And also because it was probably the single most stupid thing he'd ever thought about saying in his entire life. More important than pie…

"Where're we going?"

"To check for suspicious trees and visit the families with newborns."

Suspicious trees. Sam knew what Dean meant of course, but couldn't quite shake an image of a tree in sunglasses and a fedora from his mind. He blamed a serious lack of sleep they'd covered all five of the other towns in three days and other than sleeping in the Impala in shifts when they could manage it hadn't rested yet. He doubted that they would be resting until they had some kind of handle on this.

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They ended up at James Hollow Catholic Church, the oldest building in the entire town. As they approached it they could see a blue mini-van parked in front, under the shade of a large oak tree and a woman exiting holding a blanket wrapped bundle carefully. She hurried inside the church, long brown hair gleaming in sun. It was only five o'clock, but it would be getting dark soon which meant that all of the children on their list would be at risk.

"How's that for suspicious trees?" Sam asked, nodding at the graveyard behind the church. It looked like something out of a movie with crumbling monuments, a rickety wire gate that was missing and bent until it was touching the ground in places, with weeds climbing along the metal. The trees all looked old and reached out with gnarled branches and twisted trunks.

"Pretty good." Dean said as he parked the Impala behind the mini-van.

They'd come here looking for the O'Connells, a newly married couple who had just welcomed a little girl into their family. Their neighbor had said they were coming out to the church to see some priest and so here they were. They were the last family on their list and Sam still had no idea what the point of all of this was but Dean seemed oddly pleased with himself, as if he were on the verge of some kind of revelation.

Sam, however, had been glad to hear that one of the families, the Ambers, were leaving town in the morning due to paranoia, which was probably the smartest thing any of the parents had said when they had requested interviews. One had slammed the door in their face while the two others had gladly talked to them while laughing off concern, because their children were perfectly healthy and nothing would happen to them.

It was amusing, in a sad way, how sure they were.

"I'll go check the graveyard and you can talk to them." Dean said, looking over at him. Sam nodded and opened the door to get out, crisp air chilling him through his coat. He shut the door, glancing up at the slowly setting sun.

Whatever Dean was planning was going to have to go into effect soon.

Dean jogged for the graveyard, going through a gap in the gate, and Sam walked towards the church, shoving his hands into his pockets as he went. He felt a sense of urgency but at the same time didn't want to interrupt anything. Somehow he didn't think anyone was going to want to talk to him if he ruined some kind of religious ceremony.

The church itself was made of black stone and had stained glass in all of the windows. The doors were polished reddish-brown wood with rusting black metal fixtures, that whined loudly as he pushed them open. Inside it smelt damp and musty…old, as if it had been used for some time. A glance up found holes starting to form in the ceiling, letting beams of light stream in and chase away the growing darkness.

There was a small hallway with doors on either end but he could see three people standing at the front of the church: a woman and two men.

One of the men, taller than the other, was dressed in all black and holding a bundle wrapped in a pink blanket, over an ornate stone statue. The man dipped a hand in and came up with a handful of water, which he slowly dripped over the baby's head. There was a moment of silence and then shrill crying from the baby. The woman shifted, hands clenching as if she was trying to restrain herself from reaching out and taking her child back. The other man, her husband he assumed, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. He could hear words, spoken in a loud clear voice in a language Sam couldn't identify off the top of his head, weaving their way through the air.

Sam slid into one of the back pews, not wanting to interrupt though part of him was curious as to why they would drive so far out of town, nearly an hour, to some rundown church to have their child christened, this late at night with no one else around. It was odd…he couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do with whatever was going on.

There were candles burning at the front of the front of the church, on either side of the aisle, and the smell of cinnamon and some kind of wood filled the air.

The man in black reached into the stone bowl again but this time reached out and touched the foreheads of the mother and father, chanting a few more words. A gust of wind blew through the church and Sam shivered, pulling his coat tighter around him, as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

The infant was handed to her mother who took her and, quickly shifting her baby's weight, threw her free arm around the man, who went rigid but didn't try to get away. When she pulled away the man rocked back on his heels then reached down into a bag at his feet. He pulled out long strings of what looked like beads and handed them to the other man, making a few gestures with is hand as he spoke. The man nodded and then, putting a hand on his wife's shoulder, started down the aisle. The man in black followed and once they were closer Sam stood up.

"Hello, I'm-"

"Sam Braun. Or is it Dean?" The man in black asked, smiling slowly. He was about Sam's height and build, with tanned skin, pale brown eyes, and short black curls. Sam frowned.

"You've heard of us?"

"Actually yes." The woman said with a small smile. "The Brownings, from Wonder Falls, are friends of ours and they told us about you and Father Richards here. They said we might expect you to ask questions about the 'virus'."

The Brownings had been one of the families in the last town they visited who had lost their child. They hadn't been practically eager to speak to them about what had happened, not that their story would have been any different than anyone else's in the long run."

"Father Richards?" The man didn't look much like a priest, dressed in jeans and sweater. Then again Sam probably didn't look like he worked for the CDC in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt but people usually went along with it, so who was he to judge. "Do you mind if I ask what you were doing?"

"A simple blessing. I've been going to the towns afflicted and helping people protect their newborns."

Sam's smiled ruefully. "You haven't been doing a very good job."

Father Richards just smiled widely. "Not everyone I offer my services to is willing to accept them. Some would rather rely solely on traditional means whereas others are willing to try anything and everything. I'm sure you understand what I mean."

Sam couldn't help but shiver again, feeling that he knew exactly what the man meant. This wasn't some simple blessing that much was certain.

"Mr. Braun," Mr. O'Connell said, offering him a small smile as he started to guide his wife around him. "We'd talk to you but we should be getting home. Plus Tarin hasn't been sick so we'd probably have nothing that could help you out."

Sam nodded absently, biting his bottom lip. "That's fine."

The O'Connells left after a few more words with Father Richards. The sound of the doors opening and slamming closed again made him jump slightly and Richards smiled again, teeth brilliantly white in the ever-growing gloom.

"Is there something you wanted to ask me?"

"You aren't a priest."

A dark chuckle made him draw back some. "You don't work for the CDC, government officials are a lot more stuffy and less good looking." Sam blinked, not sure how to respond. He didn't get a chance because Richards continued after a pause. "I tell them what they want to hear; Priest, Rabbi, Mystic…whatever it takes to make them agree."

"Agree to what?"

"A simple blessing, as I already said."

Sam hesitated before asking his next question. "Do you know what's going on?"

He knew that he should ask less obvious things, try to coax out information like Dean would do but he wasn't Dean. He couldn't put people at ease and get them to confess to just about anything with is sparkling wit and charm, as Dean liked to put it. Dean was smooth and Sam…well; Jess had said he was 'disconcerting' to most people.

A very nice way of saying 'creepy' as far as Sam was concerned. His best weapon was to be blunt and hope that surprise would get him a straight answer.

"As much as any mere mortal can." There was a hint of bitter amusement in his eyes. "Look…I just bless the children. Other than that…I'm not involved. Just be content in the knowledge that Tarin O'Connell is safe from the demon after these children."

Sam eyed the man for a moment then nodded. He didn't believe him for a second but he couldn't say that, not yet anyway. "Okay. I'll see you later Richards."

"Sebastian, please, and I certainly hope so." His smile became a leer and Sam could feel a blush working its way over his face. "I'm staying at the Hollow Motel, room thirteen, if you want to find me. Feel free to drop by anytime...to talk."

The way he winked made it clear that talking wasn't what he was getting at.

"Right." Sam muttered, shying away as the man walked away, shoulder brushing over his own very deliberately. Sam stood there in the aisle for a few moments, eyes trained on the red runner, which was sun bleached to the point of being almost yellow in some spots. It wasn't like men never hit on him, he'd gotten more offers in the past year then he had the entire time he was at college, but he had to admit this was the first time someone had been quite so obvious about it.

And in a church no less.

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"You could sleep with him." Dean offered once Sam finished telling him what had gone on inside of the church. Dean had reported that nothing seemed strange in the graveyard; beyond the fact it looked like no one had ventured there in quite some time.

Sam had considered leaving the man's blatant flirting out but had decided that Dean could probably be mature for a few minutes in his life and focus on the important things, not the embarrassing ones. He wasn't sure what had made him think that but for a few seconds, while Dean had sat on his bed processing what he was saying, he'd thought he was right.

And then Dean had opened his big mouth and proven Sam wrong.

"What?"

"What?" Dean somehow managed to look completely innocent in spite of what he was suggesting. Sam wanted to punch him in the face. "I'm just saying that if this guy is after your ass and he obviously knows something maybe you could make nice and find a few things out."

"No! I don't even know that guy."

"So? It's for the children Sam, the children."

"Fuck you." Sam crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his brother who just blinked. "…This is stupid Dean. He might have been joking."

Dean snorted. "Sure. As many guys throw themselves at you-"

"I'd hardly call demanding a blowjob at a rest stop throwing themselves at me."

"…When was that?" Dean's expression went from teasing to serious in a split second.

Sam blinked slowly. There were times when he suspected Dean of constantly changing subjects just to see him struggle to keep up. "Back in Okalahoma."

"You should have said something." Dean muttered, eyes darting away from him for a moment while his hands flexed against the comforter on the bed.

"What the hell for? I told him where to stick his dick and that was the end of it; you would have wanted to shoot him or something stupid like that. Which is funny since you want me to fuck some guy for information."

"For the children." Dean corrected. "It won't be that bad Sam, you might even like it."

"Why don't you do it if it's not bad?" Sam asked dully.

"Because he isn't interested in me, he's interested in you. Apparently he digs scrawny." Dean replied brightly. "Trust me, its fun if you do it right."

Sam was silent for a moment, staring at his brother who just smirked. Finally he sat back in his chair and pulled his feet off of his bed, rolling his eyes. "Is there anyone you won't fuck?"

"Umm…" Dean's brow furrowed as if he was giving it some serious thought. Sam stood up and shook his head. He grabbed his room key then started for the door. "Where're you going?"

"Hollow Motel. Why don't you check out the O'Connells house to see if anything happens?"

"Wait!" Sam sighed and turned just in time to get hit with a small cardboard box. He caught it before it hit the ground. A box of condoms. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Like that was a whole lot of things.

He resisted the urge to throw them back, or better yet throw the lamp on the bedside table, and left without a word. He dropped the box on top of the Impala then headed out of the parking lot and across the street. Most of the motels were crowded into one area 'about twenty scenic minutes from the slopes' according to the brochure Sam had looked at while they were checking in. The Hollow happened to be across the street and two buildings down from their own motel.

He walked the entire way silently contemplating Dean's obvious plan to drive him insane. He was always on his nerves, with little comments and insults and stupid shit like this, and it was faintly reminiscent of before Sam had left for college. Only so much worse than the usual sibling annoyance crap. If didn't know him as well as he did he'd think it was some twisted form of 'pigtail pulling'. While he wouldn't put something so juvenile past his brother, he couldn't see it directed at him and so he was forced to conclude that Dean was trying to drive him crazy.

He didn't know why Dean was trying to do it, but he was doing a pretty good job of being so annoying Sam wanted to murder him in the most vicious way possible. Oddly enough Sam kind of valued the moments when he wanted to strangle Dean, because it meant he wasn't thinking of doing other, very unacceptable and un-brotherly, things to him.

Things that Sam was pretty sure would get him charged with some kind of crime in most, if not all, states. Not to mention Dean would taunt him until they day one of them died…and if Dean died first, who was to say he wouldn't come back and haunt him just to continue his torment? It would be a very Dean thing to do.

He had no worries about things like is brother hating him or being disgusted like normal people would. No, even his concerns because of thoughts of incest couldn't be remotely normal; his worry rested solely with how insufferable Dean would become after rejecting him. As far as Dean was concerned there was no one who wouldn't fall over themselves to get him into bed and if he thought, for even a second, that Sam was the same there would be no way to make him shut up.

Hell, he already wasn't going to shut up about this. Sam had no intention of taking Dean's suggestion seriously of course and fully intended to ask Richards a few questions, maybe see if he could gleam anything from what he had in his motel room but Dean was going to be even more annoying for at least a week. Still he was hoping that Richards was one of those obvious demon worshippers, if that was what he was, and had his alter out in the open.

Life would be so much easier that way.

He found room thirteen easily enough and, not giving himself a chance to actually consider what he was doing, knocked. There was no sound or light inside and he wondered if perhaps the man wasn't there, when a light came on and he heard the click of the door being unlocked. It swung open, bright light streaming out, and Richards blinked at him from behind wire rim glasses. He was wearing only a loose pair of pajama pants and Sam's eyes, independent of the part of his brains that still clung to some form of common sense, darted down. Richards was lean but muscular and a long stretch of scar tissue, shiny white against tan, ran from his right nipple to above his navel.

"You're staring." Richards' voice was thick with sleep and when Sam looked back up he saw the man biting back a yawn. "Hello."

"Hey. I…you …"

"Are dead sexy? I know; it's a curse." He leaned against the doorframe and tilted his head to the side. "What can I do for you?"

"Well…you said I could come by." Sam blamed the scar for his sudden lack of coherency. It had to be the scar because, aside from Dean, he had no lusty-type thoughts about other men. Because…well, because that would be entirely too normal for him. Just being gay would never cut it; he had to take it beyond that.

So, for the record, he was in no way attracted to this man. It was the scar. He was intrigued, curious even. But that was it.

"I was joking." Richards said, squinting at Sam for a moment. "I hope you don't take every guy who offers up on it."

"Good. I mean…I'm not…I just had a few questions." Sam said licking his lips nervously; there was something in those eyes that made him feel about five years old and five inches tall at the same time, as if he wasn't worthy of even being here. He was going to kill Dean for even suggesting this. "I mean, you know what's going on and I want to know."

"Wow. Well I'll get right on catering to you." Richards said, sarcasm thick in his voice. He moved as if to shut the door but Sam moved forward, putting his hand on the man's arm to stop him. He got a baleful look in return.

"Look, me and my brother are trying to stop whatever it is but we don't even know where to begin. If you're really trying to keep this kids safe you should let us help you."

"Hmm…no. This is a bit beyond you, trust me."

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line, trying to keep from getting annoyed. "I've been doing this since I was a kid, I doubt it's beyond me."

"Heh. This is wrath of God type shit; it's over your head."

"We're going to help no matter what, even if it involves following you around. I'm trying to be nice."

Richards just blinked again then stood to one side, making a gesture for Sam to come in. He hesitated a moment then walked past the man and into the room. It was nearly identical to his own, save it had one bed and the carpet was a hideous beige instead of puke-green. There was no alter, dead animals, or thick dusty books anywhere.

In fact other than the clear crystal about the size of Sam's fist sitting on the bedside table there was nothing remarkable about the room. Richards motioned to the chair at the desk where the TV was before shuffling into the bathroom. He didn't shut the door and Sam could see him pulling a shirt from a suitcase and pulling it on.

He didn't sit and instead walked over to the crystal. It was warm to the touch boarding on hot and seemed to be…moving in a way. He sat that, while it was indeed clear, there was a bright white light inside of it, growing brighter and fainter as if in time to something.

"Don't drop that." Richards commanded quietly. There was a thump behind him and Sam turned to see that a binder had been dropped onto the desk. Richards opened it and flipped a few pages before nodding to himself. Sam put the crystal down and walked over. The page the binder was open to show a black and white image of a half-woman half…something else. Her face was beautiful but at the same time terrible, eyes burning and mouth open to show razor sharp teeth. Her bottom half was some kind of cross between a snake and an octopus if he was forced to put a name to it.

"The thing killing these children is a demon named Lilith…or I guess 'the Demon' would be more accurate. There are a lot of different stories but the one I think is closet to the truth is Hebrew legend. She was created from the earth to be Adam's first wife but she wouldn't be subservient, seeing that she was equal because she was created as he was. Adam couldn't handle that and had her cast out of Eden and then Eve was made from one of Adam's ribs.

"Lilith was far from pleased, vowing revenge on Adam, Eve, and God. When Satan approached her to become his bride she accepted and became a demon herself. About here is branches into a few other stories but from what I've gathered she gave birth to a wide array of demons, each more terrible than the last and even went so far in her vengeance as to seduce Cain and turn him against his brother. She was eventually torn to pieces and 'destroyed' by three angels and scattered to the winds but…that never actually works in these cases and when she returned she decide to continue her vengeance against mankind by taking and devouring the souls of all children not blessed. Any kind of blessing will do so she acts fast leaving no marks or indications she was there and then moves on."

"And you're following her?"

"When our paths cross." He shrugged slightly. "She's impossible to follow because she can be anywhere at anytime and is only bound by a few rules. She always takes six souls, never more or less, and doesn't do harm to anyone else."

Sam nodded, reaching out and turning the page. Next was pages torn from a notebook, covered in what he assumed to be Richards half-print half-cursive scrawl. Dates, places, names…it seemed to go back about ten years and started with 'Barbara Cross' in Boston. Sam let his fingers trace the names and dates, flipping through what felt seemed like dozens of pages. He couldn't even begin to imagine how many children's names were written in here. Once the lists were done there were newspaper clippings, photos, and letters.

"How do you stop her?"

"You don't, otherwise I would have." Richards said with a laugh. "She's the mother of all demons kid, you can't 'stop' her. She's not some angry spirit haunting a house or an out of control were. Weren't you listening at all?"

Sam glared. He'd never liked being talked down to or treated like a kid. His father had done it between the time Dean had started hunting and Sam had started, treating him like he was some ignorant child who hadn't seen just about everything other ten year olds had just stopped believing in just because he wasn't actively going out and killing them.

Richards was silent for a moment then sighed. "If there was a way I would have found it. All you can do is bless as many kids as possible, usually one or two, and hope she doesn't feel inclined to send one of her children to rip your stomach out through your ear."

"That's crap, there has to be something you can do other then letting hundreds of kids die." Sam refused to believe that there was nothing that could be done beyond saving two kids. That was just…too depressing a thought to be possible.

"She's immortal, around since the first men walked the earth, bride of Satan. It's pretty much a done deal."

"Nothing is immortal. I've heard vampires make the same claim.

"Vampires are the red-headed bastard step-child of the lowest of demon kind. They're just humans who got 'lucky' enough to get a taste of low level demon blood and demons like Lilith aren't even inclined to acknowledge them as more than flies. Better than humans, who are like germs to be cleaned off at the end of the day, but still…" Richards was silent for a moment, watching Sam intently before shrugging. "I told you, it's over your head. Unless you want to die I wouldn't bother."

Sam was quiet, flipping back through the binder. Always six children, born in the same two weeks…there had to be thousands…hundred of thousands in this binder alone. And no one was doing anything, or was going to do anything, about it.

"This is shit."

"Yeah." Richards snorted softly then reached around Sam to pick up the binder, pressing against him for a brief moment. "I've adjusted to just running around and being a minor annoyance. Losing battle and all that."

"You've never seen her, have you?"

"I can't do anything to her, so why would I bother? If I die then I'm no good at all to anyone."

"Well then how the hell do you know you can't do anything? Maybe she has a weakness that's not in here, but something you have to see." The look of Richards face was clear: 'Aww, he's so stupid it's almost cute'. Sam pushed the chair back while raking his fingers through his hair. He was ready to either leave or punch the shit out of this guy he was so frustrated. "I can't just sit here while more kids die. At least go bless the other four."

"Their parents won't allow it. Most don't, lack of faith, and she always gets her six."

Sam opened his mouth to ask why he didn't just do it without the parents but a thought occurred to him and he paused, frowning. "Always?"

"Always."

"What happens if she doesn't?"

Richards, what had taken to leaning against the desk and looking at some point on the far wall, looked down at him. "What?"

"If she doesn't get all six, what happens?"

"…The apocalypse? Why the fuck are you asking me?"

"Because you're the one who knows this."

Another glare and then a shrug. "I don't know. She always gets her six…it's just how it is."

"But if she weren't to get them…could she just grab whoever?"

"No, there are rules to the game. Balance. It has to follow a set pattern, and don't get me started on the irony of that."

"And if you make it impossible for her to follow the rules…she loses." Sam could feel a bubble of excitement in his chest. It was of course just a theory and a half-assed one at that but it made sense and he couldn't see any major flaws beyond taking on the Queen of Hell with a theory.

Richards made a noise and then laughed, pushing his glasses up to rub at the bridge of his nose. "You're going to get yourself killed; you're all but putting on a 'kill me please' sign."

"Nothing new."

"Whatever. Lilith is going after Tarin O'Connell tonight but it shouldn't be a problem as long as her parents put up the cloves over her crib and no one disrupts the salt circle and earth lines around the doors." He said with a half-smile. "We can work on getting the rest of the children blessed in the morning."

The excited feeling crashed and burned, giving way to a queasy panicked one. Sam leaned back in his chair and swallowed thickly. "…If, in theory, someone saw something strange and disrupted the circle and lines what would happen?"

"It would disrupt all of the magic around Tarin, and there is a lot, and reverse effect on whatever idiot disrupted the lines targets for all sorts of nasty shit."

"Meaning?" Sam had a general idea but he wanted to be sure before he did something drastic.

"They'd become the biggest target in a tri-state area, if I had to guess. All of those are protect spells, to make Tarin and her parents invisible to Lilith and whatever demons come around. To reverse it would basically make whomever a giant blinking neon sign in the middle of what would basically be a blackout to demons. The only thing in the entire house." Richards didn't look concerned. In fact he looked almost serene. "But if that happened that crystal would glow."

Sam nodded, licking his lips. Okay…the crystal was still the same was when he'd come into the room so everything was fine. He just had to call Dean and let him know that everything was fine and not to-

His cell phone rang. Sam wondered why whoever was in charge of their lives hated them so much. He pulled it out of his pocket, ignoring the muttered 'well that can't be good' from Richards.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sam, something weird is going on at the O'Connells; bright lights and weird shadows in the nursery."

"Where are you?" The crystal was still the same, pulsing faint white in its clear shell, so Sam wasn't overly worried.

There was a pause and then, almost sheepishly, his brother replied. "The kitchen. I know you hate that breaking and entering thing but-"

"Shit." Richards was on his feet and walking over to the crystal, which was quickly turning a bright blue and already glowing, bright enough that he had to squint to look at it. Sam's mouth went dry at the sight of it. "Shitshitshit. Okay…he needs to run away. Now. Fast."

Sam started to say just that but a loud shrill cry than penetrated to the center of his brain. He wrenched the phone away from his ear and dropped it, nearly knocking his chair over in his haste to get away from that sound. It reminded him of a banshee cry, only much much worse. The banshee had been mournful and sad, but this was like…pain given sound. The lights flickered for a moment and then the bulb in the lamp shattered. The noise only got worse and when Sam went to put his hands over his ears he could feel slickness dripping from them.

It was almost like the sound itself could peel the skin from his body and it hurt like it was. He stumbled back, falling to his knees and closed his eyes tightly. It seemed to go on like that forever.

Until it stopped.

Sam opened his eyes. There was no preamble to it stopping; it just cut off as if it had never been to begin with. The room was pitch black save the crystal, which was now glowing a muted blue. He heard the shuffling of feet and then a hand touched his shoulder. He looked up and could just make out Richards, who was holding his phone as if it might bite him.

Sam sat up and snatched it, putting it against his ear carefully. "Dean? Dean?"

There was no sound on the other end, absolutely nothing. Not static, not movement, not even breathing come from the other end…nothing.

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Wonder Falls: I wonder if I was the only one who watched that show…heh. Anyway, I don't use real towns/places if I can avoid it. If I think too much I start wondering about silly things like distance between places and driving time.

Lilith: I kept the basic idea (Adam's first wife, cast out for independence, married Satan, steals souls of unblessed children, destroyed by three angels…) and then went from there.

You know, I just wanted to torment Dean, but then my 'muses' wanted to torment Sam a little bit as well and I was all for that as well. And then they wanted a plot and I was wary, but okay…until they were 'BAM' serious plot that takes time to develop. This has one or two more parts that will be at least this long. I have to work on scaling down…


	2. A Fool For Another Day

I Smell Sex and Candy

I don't own Supernatural, Sebastian Richards to Rochelle B.

Author: Dimitri Aidan

Rating: Borderline R/NC-17.

Spoilers: Pilot, Home, Scarecrow, Faith, and Nightmare most obviously.

Pairings: Dean/Other, Sam/OMC, and Sam/Dean…I think. It may just stay one-sided.

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Language, Torture, Rape, Sexual Tension, Incest, general badness, and some vaguely religious themes. Lets just leave it at 'Dean's having a bad day'.

Summery: Dean and Sam are investigating a series of infant deaths and find themselves in over their heads. When Dean is kidnapped by a demon, Sam is left alone and with no idea of what to do next.

Notes: I was listening to my roommate and his brother do a Hellraiser marathon while I was writing this. And yes, listening. I can't watch and write: I multi-task poorly. Anyway, that's what I was thinking about when this was being spawned.

This story is heavy in the UST. The RST is probably going to be in the follow up. This is Breaking Dean, the next one is Fixing Dean. Hopefully.

Added Note: Conform you damn story, confrom! ...aheh.

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Chapter Two

A Fool For Another Day

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Sam thought, for a moment, that he was going to sick. He couldn't explain what that was exactly, except to say that an intense wave of nausea came crashing down onto him. He gagged and could feel the burn of acid in the back of his throat.

"I'm sorry." A voice, oily laced with poisonous sugary sweetness, came through the phone. "The person you are trying to reach is out of range. Please try again later."

Sam swallowed, mouth tasting as if something had died there, then looked up at Richards who had retreated so far back into the shadows that all Sam could see was the eerie blue light bouncing off of the frames of his glasses. Even his eyes behind the lenses were naught but shadows to Sam's eyes.

"Hang up." Richards hissed softly and there was something very…wrong about the way his voice issued forth from two free floating blue spots.

Sam blinked. "What?"

"Hang up!"

"Sebastian!" The voice laughed and Richards seemed to draw back even further into the shadows, completely vanishing from Sam's sight. "Hiding yourself from us are you? Don't stray too far, we'll be seeing you both very soon."

The soft click of the line disconnecting seemed to echo painfully in Sam's mind as the phone slipped from his suddenly nerveless fingers. He couldn't do anything except stare at his phone for a long moment, couldn't…what the hell?

He heard rustling and footsteps but didn't look up until a soft glow fell over him. He looked up to see Richards moving around the room, from one flat surface to another, lighting candles with a lighter as he went. Sam couldn't even fathom why he had so many candles but found himself oddly grateful as they all but eliminated the strange blue glow, chasing it away until there was only the pulse of it within its shell.

Once he was done Richards began to tinker with the coffee machine and, after a few moments, it let out a soft hum. He sat on the table next to the machine and pushed up his glasses to rub at his eyes, looking incredibly tired. Sam raked a hand through his hair, forcing himself to stay calm and not throw up.

"What-"

"Shut up." Richards stared at him through narrowed eyes. "I need a few seconds here."

"You need…" Sam trailed off, returning the glare and them some. "Did you hear that? Something…has my brother-"

"Your brother is dead. People die." Richards' tone was mild and even but he didn't meet Sam's eyes as he said it.

People die. Bastard. "He's my _brother_, I can't abandon him if there's any hope-"

The coffee maker let out a hiss then reddish brown liquid began to drip into the pot. It smelled sweet and a little spicy and nothing like coffee. "If I were you I'd be hoping he was dead because the alternative is much worse. You can only die once after all."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked; he didn't like the way it sounded in the least but that was probably the point. Richards didn't want him going after Dean, for some reason. Not that what he wanted meant anything. "If he isn't dead where is he?"

"Hell." This was said with a wry sort of amusement. Sam's heart dropped to his stomach and he could fell his throat tighten up because he was almost positive Richards meant it in the most literal sense of the word possible. "I couldn't tell you exactly where of course, it's a surprisingly large place and when I say 'I hope' I mean I hope. If there's a caring god anywhere in the world… Would you like some tea? It's quite soothing."

"Fuck you."

"If you want but I don't see how that's going to help things…I mean, obviously it'll help, but you won't feel bad about the tea in the morning."

Tea was about the last damn thing Sam wanted and it must have showed as he forced himself to his feet trying to ignore the way the room was spinning, because Richards shrugged then, an unreadable expression crossing his face, got up and walked into the bathroom. Sam could hear running water, hear it splashing in the sink, and sat down again burying his face in his hands.

He wasn't going anywhere right this second, he felt like he might throw up if he tried to move, but he certainly wasn't going to do nothing. He had to find Dean, even if he had to do it alone.

Besides, it wasn't like he needed the man's help; he was perfectly capable of figuring this out himself. He'd start at the O'Connell house, see if he could find any indications of what had happened and if that lead him anywhere. If not there was always research.

He hadn't let Dean die before and he wasn't going to let it happen now, no matter what it took. He'd sacrifice anyone and anything if it would save his brother.

"Have you ever seen your intestine? Seen someone's hand close around your heart, pulled just far enough out of your ribcage that you can see it pumping slowly? Maybe have your eyes pulled out until you can see your face? Do you think you'd like to? Because if that doesn't appeal to you I'd stop thinking about saving your brother." Richards said blithely. Sam didn't respond but did leap away when rough warm wetness touched his ear. He didn't get far because the older man grabbed the side of his face and tilted his head to the side, forcing him still. "Your ears were bleeding."

"I noticed."

"You must be connected to the psychic plane…and untrained at that. I know kids a lot younger than you who don't curl into a ball and bleed when they hear Demon Cries."

Sam tired to twist around, push him away but Richards proved to be as touch as he looked, letting go of him just long enough to avoid his swinging arm and then elbow him in the gut solidly. The air went rushing from him and he coughed, doubling over.

"Don't get mad at me about what's true." The cloth rubbed over his ear again and Sam realized for the first time how muffled everything have been sounding. A few moments later and he was released, Richards wisely moving away from him before he could lash out. He really didn't like him, at all. Why the hell was he even still here? He had to save Dean and the first step to doing that was getting out of her.

Still…the thought of moving made his insides twist in a fairly foreboding manner. "What do you know about the…psychic plane?"

"Not a lot." Richards righted the chair then rubbed his hands over the front of his pants. "My mother didn't pass her gift along to me and I inherited my father's skill with magick, much to her dismay."

"Inherited…do all people inherit it?"

"Most people inherit from their mothers, though women are infamously more adept at magick which is still a source of teasing to this day for me. Anyway, unless something more powerful gets in the way, in my case my dad's magick, males will inherit their mother's psychic tendencies, latent, recessive, or otherwise. I'm sure it makes sense genetically, X chromosomes and what have you." Judging by his tone Richards believed that, but couldn't have explained it to him. "Your mother…?"

"I…don't know. She died when I was a baby." He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering his mother's spirit, serene and beautiful, apologizing to him. Was this it, her reason? Had she had these powers too and had passed them along to him, or at least suspected?

Was that why that…thing was after him?

"Oh." For a long moment there was only the sound of the coffee machine while Richards regarded him with thinly veiled interest. "What can you do?"

Sam hesitated a moment before speaking. The only living person to know about what he saw and could do was Dean…assuming Dean was still alive; it felt strange to be talking about it with someone else. Not that he and Dean talked about it, they pretended it didn't exist until Sam was doubled over in pain and instructing Dean on where to go.

"I can see things…the future. Move things, sometimes. If I'm under enough pressure."

"Huh." The older man nodded slowly. "Good skills. Not that least bit useful at the moment, but good. Ah, it's done."

Sam had a mug of tea in his hand five minutes later and was glaring at it very intently. He still couldn't believe he was sitting here drinking tea when he should have been out there, finding Dean. The longer he waited the colder the trail would get and the harder it would be to find him, but he couldn't make himself stand to leave. No…that wasn't it. He had the strange feeling that he'd do more good here than anywhere else.

He couldn't put a name to the feeling exactly but he couldn't deny that it was there. He took a sip, letting the slightly spicy cinnamon taste roll over his tongue.

Oddly enough he did feel calmer the moment it passed over his lips, which only made a sick feeling of guilt well up in his chest.

Richards set down his mug with a sigh. "Are you going to help me save the rest of these children or do you plan to commit suicide and leave me to it?"

Sam took another drink and closed his eyes to savor the strange warmth that flowed through him. "I have to save Dean."

"Would he abandon this job to save you?"

Sam opened his eyes and met Richards placid gaze. There was nothing in the cool amber orbs except questioning, no judgment or accusing. He worried his bottom lip for a moment, considering. He let his mind go through every job they'd ever been on together and all of the stuff in between and the answer was painfully obvious.

"Yeah, he probably would."

"But?"

"He'd kill himself before he'd let me."

Unlike Dean there was always a chance Sam would be seeing whatever happened as a result of his abandoning these children in his nightmares for a long time to come. He'd never be rid of the guilt and there would never be a chance he could convince himself he'd done the right thing. Dean would rationalize, saying that Sam and his gifts were more important in the long term, especially considering how many people they would save in the future and how many less would be saved in Dean had to go it alone.

But as far as his own life went…Dean was sure he was expendable. He didn't understand that he was Sam's world, the one thing that never changed no matter what horrific visions he had while he was sleeping. He was his anchor…Dean was his everything and he would have killed for him…but he couldn't put innocent people in danger for him.

Dean wouldn't allow it and if he found out there would be hell to pay for it. It wasn't that Sam didn't want to, it's that he knew he couldn't. Stupid Dean.

"So you'll help?" Sam nodded slowly. "We'll start early then, hit all of the families before nightfall, hopefully and then…wait."

Something in the way Richards spoke made a chill run up Sam's spine. He had a feeling what they were waiting for was nothing good. Not that it mattered; he'd help Richards finished this thing with Lilith up and then go looking for his brother. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he could even get the other man to help him or at last give him some insight.

Sam may have been out of his element but Richards seemed right at home.

The first thing he needed to do was get to the O'Connell house and see if what had taken Dean had left anything behind. It was night and they were waiting until morning to finish up the job so he wouldn't need to feel guilty about it. He just had to figure out how to get out there, sine Dean had taken the Impala and-

"My brother's car…he'll haunt me if I don't get it back."

"Haunt you?"

"Yeah. He'd sooner sell his first born than let anything happen to the Impala."

"…Okay. We'll take my car."

0000000000000000

"It must have been hard for you, always doing what your father wanted and demanded of you, without so much as a 'good job Dean' to go along with it. You tried so hard to be just like him in every way."

Someone was whispering in his ear in a way that would have been arousing if not for the fact he was just regaining some form of consciousness and felt terrible. His head was pounding, as if his brain was trying to split his skull in half and jump free. He could only just barely focus on the words being spoken to him and even less on the whispery quality to it or the air being blown over his ear.

His arms hurt in a distant sort of way, stretched so far above his head his shoulders were burning, sharp edged chains cutting into this skin. His feet just brushed the floor, which felt sharp under his feet and cut into his flesh.

"It's a little ironic for you, I'd imagine, that your brother is more like your father than you can ever hope to be, right down to putting his obsession with finding his girlfriend's killer ahead of you, just like your father did while looking for the thing that killed his wife. You're always second best."

Dean opened his eyes slowly, wanting to get a look at the thing that thought it could taunt him, but found that there was nothing…total blinding white nothingness stretching out in every direction in a way that made him dizzy just to look at and to say it didn't help his head was an understatement in the worst way. Then again he was dizzy and hurting in general; he felt like he'd been run over by a mack truck or something just as big.

"But, of course, its not really about being like him for you, is it? It's more about not reminding your father of your mother to you? He used to look at you, listen to you and cringe you're so much like her. You even cut your hair to hide it." Sharp nails scrapped over his scalp and he could feel the skin giving way and splitting. "But mostly it's the way you act. Even now he thinks you are so much like her…do you think that's why he left? You've tried so had to make yourself hard and untouchable like him, but you'll never be him. You're weak and he can't stand to look at you."

The needle like nails trailed down the side of his face to his neck, cutting the skin open as they went. Blood followed the cuts down his cheek, warm and tickling in an odd way, but he couldn't see anyone or anything around him except for the whiteness. Something cool and wet lapped over the blood and he couldn't help but cry out.

It felt like salt was being rubbed into the cuts, packed and pressed in deep, only so much worse than just salt. Like…acid, creeping under his skin and into his body, burning its way deeper inside of him.

He grit his teeth and jerked his head back, thinking he'd be prepared for the pain. He was wrong and as silky laughter wormed its way into his brain everything went black and colors danced in front of his eyes. He coughed as bile burn his throat as he emptied his stomach. He could smell and feel the rancid wetness, hot and sticky, against his skin and had to put forth a serious effort to not heave again.

"Humans." The voice was almost mockingly affectionate. "So fragile. We haven't even begun and already you're sick."

Dean sucked in a breath then forced his eyes open. This time he was confronted with…something resembling a man. He was dressed in all leather, black and shiny to the point that the whiteness of the room caused a glare against it. What skin was visible was white, not just pale but paper white, and run through with more pieces of metal than Dean had ever been witness to in his life. Two large leathery but paper thin wings protruded from his back, folded down against his back like some kind of cape, and his fingers ended in long, thin claws.

"This is an interesting form for you to give me." This was the source of the voice, slick sweetness that made him feel sick. "Very…Hollywood. Does it make you feel better?"

Dean kicked out, catching the thing in the stomach before howling in pain. It was like kicking the side of a tank or a steel beam or something that people really shouldn't be kicking. He could feel the bone break only it seemed intensified tenfold, crashing directly into his brain. His vision went hazy again and he was only dimly aware of hands on his foot as his body tried to shut down.

He swallowed, forcing himself to stay conscious and glaring. He got a slow grin in reply before there was a sharp twist and then his foot, which had been turned a very awkward angle, was back in place.

"I wouldn't advise such action. You'll hurt yourself." Claws moved over his chest, cutting through his layers of t-shirt with no problem and nicking skin ever so faintly. "And we wouldn't want that. You're such a beautiful thing and wasting beauty is a tragedy."

He narrowed his eyes for a moment then spit in the thing's face. He barely had time to register the saliva landing before his head snapped back viciously and the world went black for a moment. When the whiteness surged forward again there was a very distinct pain in his jaw and he could taste blood on his lips. The thing was giving him a mildly annoyed look, no harsher than what Dean might wear when Sam got mud in the Impala.

"I will never understand why your sort insist on being hurt so." It sighed, shaking its head slowly. As if from the air itself the thing withdrew a blade, sharp and hooked at the end.

It didn't hurt so much being thrust into his stomach, more of a tingle. It was the wet sound and trickle of warmth down his stomach that bothered him at first; then the blade was yanked back out and Dean could _feel_ things shifting and being pulled out to fall with a soft pattering sound on the ground. Then a metallic clatter filled his ears, followed by a soft squish and presser on his stomach. He could feel…something, inside, touching and grasping and wiggling. He choked, blood welling up to clog his throat.

"Human anatomy is interesting. It's a hobby really, finding out how much you can pull out before death happens."

The last thing Dean saw before everything went blank was an almost mocking smirk on the face of his captor.

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The O'Connell house was a newer one in the neighborhood, built to match the older cabin looking houses around it, all smooth brown painted wood and friendly green shutters with flowered hangings in the window. Even the door was a cheery red color and Dean had laughed, telling him it looked like something he'd built with Lincoln Logs.

Sam had been inclined to agree.

That had been earlier that day, when they'd been looking for the family to speak to them. It couldn't have been more than five or six hours ago. A look at the clock on the dashboard showed that it was barely ten-thirty.

Now the house seemed to have been swallowed by living shadows, which coiled and slithered around it, hiding it from sight, like a million tentacles, wound tightly together and sliding over each other. The sound was a kind of…wet slurping as slow moving black goo oozed itself across the front porch and down the steps. The Impala was a few paces away from the house and just outside out of the border. Sam had been holding back the urge to throw up since turning onto Shady Glen Drive and now that they were standing on there, less than fifteen feet away, he found himself swaying on his feet and desperately needing to sit down or throw up or…something.

Sam took a step forward then reared back, hand going up to cover his mouth. A smell like rotting flesh hung heavy in the air, almost like an invisible wall. He stumbled back, turning to look at Richards who was just staring, lips pursed.

"What the hell is that?" Richards shrugged then looked around as if looking for something. Sam looked around as well; most of the houses still had lights on and he couldn't imagine why no one had rushed out or called the police to report the giant…thing that had enveloped their neighbor's house.

While Sam was used to people seeing what they wanted to see and nothing more he couldn't believe the entire neighborhood was somehow blocking this out of their minds. There wasn't that much denial in the entire world. At least, he hadn't thought there could be. Maybe he'd been too optimistic.

"Huh." Richards muttered before leaning against his car and tilting his head to the side. "You know what I think that is?"

"No."

"I think that is psychical evidence that when someone tells you not to fuck with stuff you should, in fact, not fuck with stuff. May this be a lesson to you." Richards shrugged again then straightened up. He opened the door of his car and made to get in. "Magick backfire is such a pointless and ugly thing."

"This is backfire?" First Dean was missing and now some black thing that smelled like a swamp and sounded like…he didn't know what, was all but eating the house. "Is there anything else that might happen that you want to share?"

"God…I hope not." The older man hesitated for a moment, as if considering then shook his head. "Get your car and let's go. I work better when I'm not up all night."

"You're just going to leave that?"

"Trust me kid, it'll be here tomorrow." Richards didn't look the least bit concerned, the polar opposite of Sam who could just feel the…sickness pouring off of the house. It was like syrup or oil, slowly slipping into Sam's brain and leaving a thick, sticky trail over him as it went. It felt disgusting and it made him feel nauseas and lightheaded just to stand so close.

"What about the O'Connells?"

"They'll still be here too." The door to his car slammed shut and then he leaned out the window. "You can shoot at it if you think it'll make you feel better, but I won't be doing anything until morning."

"We can't just leave this."

"Well what do you suppose we do, rush into this with no idea of what's going on, what that is, or what to do? Does the idea of waiting for a plan of action offend you so much?"

Sam opened his mouth to respond then shut it, brows furrowing in thought. Just rushing in…normally he'd be totally against something like that. Running in blind was a very 'Dean' thing to do and he wasn't Dean; he was 'Research guy'.

But someone had to be the other guy, right? That was how he and Dean worked, forcing a middle ground. There couldn't be two 'Research guys' and this was evidently why. He shook his head.

"Yeah. What if they die?"

"Who? The O'Connells? They're already dead." Richards still didn't look the least bit concerned and Sam couldn't even wrap his brain around such an apathic response. "Kid, don't look so horrified. People die; it's a job hazard."

"How can you not care? This…I…" Sam didn't even have words. He turned and looked back at the house. "You said they'd still be here."

"Their soulless reanimated corpses." Richards said lightly then, softly: "I think."

"You _think_?"

"I didn't do this! I told you to stay away, I said it multiple times even, but you still let your brother go running in there and now this. I didn't kill anyone." The door of the car creaked open and a moment later a hand grabbed Sam and turned him around to meet cold brown eyes. "Don't get mad at me because you fucked up. Maybe you and your brother should have stuck to hunting vampires instead of demons are old as life itself?"

Sam's mouth worked but no words were forthcoming. It wasn't…only it was. Richards had everything under control, at least here, before they'd gotten involved and it had been them, him and Dean, who screwed this up. Killed the O'Connells, if they were actually dead and let loose…whatever that thing was. He should have called him, should have told him to lay off, but he hadn't. He'd…he'd killed these people.

He was going to be sick.

Before he could though the dizzy feeling that had been dancing along the edge of his senses hit him hard. He felt the world slip away and suddenly he was somewhere else, only…not. He knew where he was, could feel Richards' hand on his arm and see his expression change from one of anger to confusion to panic, but he was still somewhere else.

_It was white and hazy, burning his eyes. _There were vague shadows, wobbling and jumping up and down like the image on an old TV that couldn't hold a screen properly.

"_Is he-"_

"_Of course not. I plan to keep him around for a while yet Aroich." _There was a wet feeling around his ear and he wanted to bat it away but he didn't have any control. _His head moved and he was looking into…nothingness. Black that seemed to stretch on forever, unblinking and endless. There was that wet feeling, rough and ice cold, along his cheek and then a sharp bite_.

_His head dropped back and for a moment he could only stare down into a mass of red on red, slimy and wet looking, falling from a rip in tanned flesh. _

"_You should fix him now Alastor. He smells." _

"_I suppose."_

Sam felt a warm shiver and then, slowly he blinked.

"Sam? Hey!" A hard slap and Richards, who had been written over when Sam had been elsewhere, came back into focus sharply. They were on the ground and the earth was wet and cool, sticking and seeping through his jeans.

"Oh."

"Christ. Where were you?"

"I…" He pushed Richards away, hand going to his chest and infinitely relived to find everything still whole and inside. He sighed, sorely tempted to give in to the fatigue that was starting to creep up on him. He hadn't slept since yesterday; having been lucky enough to get the last driving shift. "I don't know. There…blackness. Forever and these voices. Alastor and Aro-something. I thought I was cut open but…I'm not."

Richard's eyebrow quirked. "You didn't say anything about being linked to your brother. That's really the sort of thing you should mention."

"I'm not. I don't think. What-"

"Linked. …It's really a lot what it sounds like. Psychic crap. Where his brain is, yours is, when he's in excruciation mind numbing pain, you know it. Fun stuff like that." Richards shrugged. "You've had to have noticed before this. If anything him being in hell should make it impossible for you to be aware of him, not prompt sudden psychic connection."

Sam didn't say anything for a long moment before firmly filing that away under 'shit to tell Dean about next time he tries to make me bend spoons'. "That other stuff I saw, you know about it?"

"Badass demons are my specialty. Aroich, I assume you meant, is just an in general mean bastard. Feeds off of the pain and mental torment of humans, invokes cruelty in people. Alastor, he's the Executioner. People who really get on someone's nerves are shuffled off to him to play with. He's been perfecting the art of hiding among humans by getting inside of us."

"Inside."

"_Inside."_ Richards repeated, drawing the word out carefully, eyes serious in a way that left no question to his meaning. "So if you saw him you must have…you know, been in your brother. I had no idea you were annoying enough to warrant Alastor. That takes special skill."

Sam blinked up at him. His mind wanted to take in the words and understand them so he could come up with a plan but it just…wouldn't. Adamantly refused to let any of it be real or understood. All of this…'Wrath of God' and Magick and Psychic Plane stuff was something he needed time and a lot of alcohol to fully absorb and neither was an option. He wasn't the sort of person to panic when things got tough or out of control, but he honestly had no fucking idea what the hell was going on anymore.

He rubbed his hands over his face. He just…it was out of control.

"I don't understand."

"Which part?" Richards tone was somewhere between earnest and excited.

"Any of it!" Sam snapped as something inside of him twisted. There was a loud bang and Sam looked over just in time to see a telephone pole along the street burst into flames. "Fuck."

That was new. Of course. He wanted it to stop so it just impounded and got worse. His head was pounding, an incessant and annoying pressure against his skull and he just wanted to bang it against something to make it stop so he could fucked think. He had to focus on something. What did he know? What wasn't completely unknown and insane all of a sudden, what still made sense? He had to give his brain something to hold onto before…well, before something else happened.

"Sam?"

"…I have to save my brother and the O'Connells."

"I think we've backtracked. The O'Connells are dead."

Sam waited for the inevitable 'and so is your brother' but it didn't come. The silence stretched between them, weaving itself around them, until Sam looked up again. Richard was sitting back on his heels, eyes turned heavenward.

"What about Dean?"

"Logic dictates that if Alastor has him he'll keep pushing him to the brink of death and bringing him back for the sake of his experiments. He'll probably wish he was dead but he won't actually die for a very long time." Richards sounded almost defeated. "If you are linked to him, on a psychic level, I can't keep you from saving him because it'd probably rip your psyche into little pieces. I've heard that's unpleasant."

Sam nodded slowly. "How do I save him?"

"You'll need to open a doorway to him. The chant is simple, some chalk on the ground, invoke your patron god, and you should be good. Maybe not even all that, since you're linked." Sam bit his lip, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Except you'd have to do it where your brother was taken from."

Of course. He needed to be inside the house, which was covered in shadow tentacles and do a spell when he had no concept of magick beyond exorcisms and banishing. This was going so well already. He could feel laughter welling up inside of him but managed to just nod again.

"All right. How could I get inside?"

"Another spell. Go around to the front door and activate the wards I set up to create safe passage in. Getting out would be a bitch, since your brother destroyed the back wards and the front wards will be ineffective after all of that. Assuming they're even up now." Richards didn't look at him even now, just kept staring up. "If you did get in, did somehow get your brother without being captures and slaughtered, did get back out of hell, and did get out of the house again, you'd be forever marked and any demon who saw you would know you were touched by Hell. The Lower levels will flee but the higher ups will seek you out."

Sam nodded again. "So basically I'm fucked."

"Yep."

Nothing new. "I can live with that."

Richards snorted softly. "Goody. Come on then, I know someone who can help us save your brother."

"Us?"

"Of course. How the hell are you going to do all that stuff on your own?" The look Richards laid on him was nothing short of 'What are you, a dumbass'. It wasn't as honed as Dean's 'Jesus Sammy, are we even fucking related?' look, but it wasn't bad. "We have to find holy ground."

"Why?"

"Because you can't call a God from un-holy land. It's rude."

0000000000

Yawns So. Next chapter we find out how exactly Richards knows so much, meet this God of his, and Sam tries to use his 'talents' on purpose and burns some stuff down. Oh, and the torture really starts for Dean. Not that having a demon shove a hand into his chest and muck about wasn't bad…

Anyway, I missed the deadline for the challenge so it'll probably end up longer than I originally thought, with more plot twists, torment, and mindfuckery. This chapter, even, is totally different. Originally Richard's opened a door into the house then left Sam to fend for himself because, and I quote "I don't do Hell. My soul's already forfeit, why in the hell would I want to go early?"

Thanks to Shy eye, Cee Wave, SamDean4ever, Depressed one, Mechante (Rochelle said thanks by the way.), Latanya, Powr, Spnlover, belleimani, jdsampson, Atana, Rosemary, Gact, and SSJ.

All review comments are on my live journal. Or…you know, will be soon. Right after I catch some sleep. I promise.


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